Ollivander measured the length of Harry’s dominant arm and his height, then turned to hunt for wands.
A silver tape measure leaped up on its own and started measuring his nostrils.
Harry swatted the nosy thing away and looked at the stack of wand boxes in Ollivander’s hands.
“Try this one first.
Maple, phoenix feather, seven inches.” Ollivander handed it over.
Harry barely touched it before the old man snatched it back.
“Not this one.
Try this.” Box after box came out.
Harry only got to brush each wand for a second before it was taken away again.
He was starting to wonder what the point was when Ollivander finally offered a new one.
“Holly wood, phoenix feather, eleven inches.” The second Harry closed his fingers around it, golden fireworks exploded from the tip.
The blast shook the entire shop.
Wand boxes tumbled off the walls like an avalanche.
Hagrid yelped and threw his arms over his head.
Harry vanished under a mountain of boxes.
“Haha!
Looks like we’ve got a winner!
This wand is thrilled to meet you.” Ollivander laughed and hauled Harry out of the pile with surprising strength.
The skinny old man lifted him like he weighed nothing.
As he set Harry on his feet, another box caught on Harry’s shirt and tumbled free.
It popped open.
A pure black wand rolled out—obsidian-dark, covered in swirling patterns that seemed to move on their own.
Harry stared.
A strange, familiar feeling washed over him, like the wand already knew his name.
“Mr.
Ollivander… this one feels different.” “Ah, that one.” Ollivander’s smile faded.
“It’s special.
Not for sale.
Its owner left it here for regular maintenance.
Maybe it knows he abandoned it.
That’s why it’s been so quiet.” He started digging through the mess for the box he’d pulled earlier.
“Need help?” Harry asked, feeling guilty for causing the chaos.
“No, no, this is normal.
I’ll handle it.” Harry reached out anyway—and his hand closed around the black wand instead.
A sudden wind roared through the shop.
Wand boxes flew up in a storm, but they didn’t scatter.
They zipped straight back to their original spots on the shelves, stacking perfectly in seconds.
The entire place looked untouched, like nothing had ever fallen.
Hagrid burst into applause.
“Brilliant, Harry!
That’s real talent right there!” Harry and Ollivander just stared, stunned.
Two wands had chosen the same boy.
And one of them already had an owner.
Ollivander’s eyes narrowed.
He studied Harry like he was some rare magical creature.
Then his gaze dropped to Harry’s wrist.
The wind had blown Harry’s sleeve up, revealing the black magic ring underneath.
Harry noticed and yanked his sleeve down fast.
Ollivander opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off.
“Mr.
Ollivander, what’s going on?
Both wands reacted to me.
Which one do I take?” The question pulled the old man’s attention back to the wands.
“Performance-wise, the black one suits you better.
But it’s not new stock.
I recommend the holly one.” “Can I ask whose wand the black one is?” “Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore.
Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Hagrid’s jaw dropped.
“Dumbledore’s wand?!
Bloody hell, if it were me I’d take that one in a heartbeat!” “Don’t say that.
Your own wand will hear you,” Ollivander said dryly.
Hagrid shut up immediately.
“Besides, it’s not merchandise,” Ollivander continued.
He gently took the black wand from Harry and returned it to its box.
“Dumbledore only asked me to look after it.
He never said to sell it.
So you’re getting this one—holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches.” He wrapped the wand carefully, slipped it into a box, and handed it over.
“Take good care of it.
Understand?” “Yes, sir.” The bell above the door jingled as they stepped out into Diagon Alley.
Through the window, Ollivander watched the tall man and the small boy walk away.
He rubbed his thinning hair, then turned and started rummaging through an old cabinet.
He pulled out a stack of yellowed, tattered manuscripts—his own designs from decades ago.
Page after page of wand sketches.
Then he froze.
One drawing showed a sleek bracelet covered in complex alchemical runes.
His old idea.
The one his father had laughed at.
“No wizard would ever wear a wand on their wrist.
It’s ridiculous.
They’d never accept the change.” Ollivander set the page down slowly.
“Potter… The Potters have always been strong in alchemy.
Could this be old Fleamont’s work?” Harry’s grandfather had made a fortune with Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.
His alchemy skills were no secret.
If he’d kept experimenting in secret, maybe he’d actually built the prototype.
The thought made Ollivander’s fingers itch.
His abandoned dream was sitting on that boy’s wrist right now.
“Maybe it’s time I tried again,” he murmured to the empty shop.